308 Days
by readyandpsyched
Summary: After being apart for a year, McKinley and Price meet for the first time face to face when Price returns from Uganda.


It had been 308 days. 308 days between when Kevin Price and Connor McKinley parted ways at the wooden bench and tree that marked the bus stop in Palaro, Uganda and when they met again at the Orchid Street Café a block north the University of Ohio campus.

As Connor had a hard time explaining to people later on, the fact that they had known each other for two years did not mean that they had been seeing each other for that long, at least not in any traditional sense. They had first met 673 days ago and first kissed 661 days ago, but for the first year they were missionaries and everything was off-limits, and for the second year they were in separate countries, communicating only by weekly email. During those two years they weren't 'dating' because they'd never actually been on a date and they weren't 'lovers' because they'd never made love, but they weren't just 'friends' either because it was certainly more than that. Connor called it a 'relationship' and Kevin called it 'something', and both were fine enough terms to describe what they had: a close personal, spiritual and romantic bond that they had to keep secret.

Aside from a few lapses in judgment, times when their self-control had faltered, they had been remarkably chaste for the year they had together in Uganda. They were all too aware of the consequences, not of what it was they were doing—because they had, in time, come to terms with the institutionalized guilt and shame associated with acting on their feelings—but of being caught. Nabulungi knew and some of the others Elders found out eventually and that was fine, mostly, but if word got back to the mission president who controlled their status as missionaries and church members or the government who allowed them to stay in the country there would be no way to recover from the fallout.

So they took things very slowly, not only because of the need for discretion, but also because neither was sure quite what they wanted or how to proceed. Neither had done anything quite like this before. It was only a quick kiss behind closed doors, a long talk outside of the clinic when the others were out of earshot, a lingering hand on the shoulder, a platonic chat in the study before curfew. Connor marveled at how much easier everything became, not harder, after Kevin had kissed him in the study that night during the party—how he could stop turning it off for Kevin's sake, stop worrying if he could tell, stop lamenting the fact that he was all alone in this because he wasn't alone any longer, he had Kevin. He felt lighter, happier, more at ease, more comfortable in his own skin.

They kept telling one another that it was just a casual thing, two people brought together by circumstance and proximity, but when it came down to the end of September and Connor was preparing to leave, neither of them wanted it to be over. The intensity terrified Connor, and he tried to end it prematurely so it wouldn't hurt so badly when he left. But Kevin wouldn't let him.

They agreed to keep in touch as best they could and see what happened. The impreciseness of the arrangement made Connor uneasy.

Connor and Elder Thomas said their goodbyes to the other Elders at the bus stop in the early morning on September 20th. Kevin gave Connor a terse hug and slipped him a note, whispering, "Just read it on the plane." Connor wished he could have said more to him then, but there wasn't the time nor the privacy, so he just said that he would miss them all and wished them luck for their remaining service.

He disregarded Kevin's instruction and read the note on the bus as soon as Elder Thomas dozed off (which was almost immediately). It was a square of journal paper that said simply in Kevin's big blocky handwriting, 'I really care about you. Please don't forget me. I love you. –Kevin'. There was more that Kevin had wanted to say—he'd written pages and pages, but each time he wrote it down it felt wrong, like it was either overly-sentimental or disingenuous, and so he settled on three short lines hoping they would say what he wanted to say out loud but couldn't.

Connor was furious, and that was certainly not Kevin's intended reaction. He wanted to turn the bus around and race back to Palaro and grab Kevin by the collar and shake him and yell, "Why would you think I would forget about you? Have you really so badly misinterpreted our relationship or have you just not listened to a word I've said over the past year? Is this some false modesty shtick or do you really think I would be that callous? And how can you say you love me in a note when I'm leaving and I don't even have the opportunity to say it back? Because I knew and you knew but I didn't want to say it because then things would get weird, but then you went and said it anyway _in a note_ and now I can't even see you again to tell you that I love you, too."

But he knew Kevin, probably better than anyone else did, and he knew that for all his bravado, Kevin honestly did worry about those things, about being forgotten. And he obviously worried about whether or not Connor loved him back, though he should have known that of course he did.

After re-reading the three lines on the note over and over again until the words and letters became meaningless, Connor then spent the next two hours of the eight-hour bus ride hugging his suitcase to his chest, leaning his head against the dirty window and trying not to let anyone see him silently sobbing, because as much as he missed the conveniences of home, he didn't want to go back. He wanted to stay in Uganda, where he had made real relationships and felt like he was doing real work, actually helping people. And he wanted to stay with the one person who he probably, almost certainly, yes definitely did actually love and who loved him back.

* * *

><p>Keeping in touch wasn't easy. They couldn't send letters for fear that the Mission President might read them. They couldn't call because Kevin was only allowed two calls a year, and that was to his family. They couldn't chat because Kevin only had an hour in the internet café once a week, if he could even get into the city on a weekly basis.<p>

So they emailed, once a week for forty-four weeks. Kevin wrote out his letters longhand in his journal, then typed as frantically as he could in the internet café. He printed out Connor's emails so he could read them over again and again back at the living quarters. In January, one of the new missionaries, Elder Stevens, fixed up an old computer for the clinic, so when the electricity was on and the computer wasn't in use Kevin and the other Elders could write their emails and letters and take them on a flash drive to the city on P-Day, making the writing process significantly simpler.

It was strange in the beginning, and Connor wasn't sure what to write. He told Kevin about how odd it was being back at home, what things had changed, what had stayed the same, what he had to get used to again and what was still second nature. He told him about his days—seeing family, running into old friends, doing errands, working, going to classes. It got easier after a while, after he got more comfortable writing about what he was feeling rather than what he was doing.

Connor had been afraid that the relationship would fall flat when they couldn't see each other every day, when they couldn't talk and touch and be close, but if anything it grew stronger and deeper. They didn't have to be guarded in writing; they didn't have to cloak their language in neutral pronouns and pronouncements in case someone overheard, like back in Palaro. It was frightening at first, the honesty that emailing allowed, but stripped of pretext and nervousness about being misunderstood it became freeing and exhilarating.

Connor sent Kevin emails throughout the week, sometimes long letters, sometimes short notes. On sleepless nights (which were most nights) he would lie in bed with his laptop resting on his chest, writing. It was nice to have someone with whom to communicate, even if he couldn't really talk to Kevin. He was busy with work and classes at the local college, but it was lonely living back with his parents. He didn't have any real friends left in Celina, just a few acquaintances from high school that he hadn't spoken with since graduating, and he didn't have any way to relate to them anymore, not in any significant way, not like he could with Kevin.

He was stuck in the stultifying limbo between adults with degrees and minivans, high schools grads who'd never left their summer jobs at McDonalds, and college freshman who still didn't know how to do laundry—he didn't fit in with any of them. Compared to his peers he felt so much older, but not necessarily wiser. In a way he envied his former high school classmates who had gotten married and were still in Celina, working low-wage jobs at the Honda plant or at home raising a kid—at least they had that part figured out. They found someone to share their life with and a job they tolerated. And what did he have? A room in his parents' house, a part time job at the bank, 18 credits of community college courses, a secret pseudo-boyfriend who lived seven time zones away, and no way to tell anyone about him.

It was bearable, but not ideal. He waited it out, though, because in January they made a plan that was extraordinarily risky, hasty and selfish, but feasible, and—after a significant amount of deliberation—seemed like the right thing to do. It was Kevin's idea. Connor had already applied to and been accepted at the University of Ohio; Kevin would transfer his credit from BYU and meet him there the month after he returned home. Then they could be together, and if word got back to the church or their families, as it inevitably would, they would be able to weather it together, side by side.

* * *

><p>When Kevin returned to Provo on the 14th of July, they kept writing. Kevin emailed Connor as soon as he got home, and sent him his new cell number, but Connor didn't want to call. He was too nervous. He wrote back to Kevin,<p>

I don't want to yet. I don't want to be rude… I just think it'll feel weird, and I don't think I'll know what to say on the phone. Can we just wait until we see each other in person? Is that ok?

That's fine….. I'm flying in on aug 18. What day are you coming?

My parents are driving me there on the 19th, fri. They should be gone by late afternoon.

They made plans to meet at a coffee shop near campus on the afternoon of August 19th , after they had both moved in to their respective dormitories.

That entire morning Connor was freaking out. For as close as he and Kevin had remained and as much as he felt he knew and understood Kevin, he had no idea how to anticipate what would happen next: how Kevin would react, what he would say, what he would expect, how they would proceed with whatever their relationship was.

They still hadn't defined what it actually meant to the two of them, and while they said that Kevin's plan to come to U.O. was just meant to give them a chance to see how things go being together in the real world, they understood that is was more than that. By committing to their university plan, they were implicitly committing to each other even though they hadn't seen one another in a year, and now they would finally meet face-to-face after so much had changed, and in Connor's mind if anything was worthy of a freak out, it was that.

After his parents finally left he paced around his dorm room, wondering if he should go early or if that would look needy or if he should show up casually late or if that would look too aloof. He kept taking his phone out of his pocket and tossing it nervously between his hands, thinking maybe he should just call Kevin, just to break the ice, but then ultimately deciding against it. He changed clothes four times, brushed his teeth three times, burst into tears once (briefly) and checked his email every few minutes in case Kevin had written to change his mind and call it off.

* * *

><p>Connor arrived ten minutes early and locked his bike at the rack a few buildings down from the café. He contemplated circling the block a few times so he wouldn't be early, but instead took a deep breath and started toward the meeting place.<p>

He stopped short before the door of the café—he could see Kevin through the front window. He was sitting on a couch at a corner table by the window with a bottle of water, one leg crossed over the other, looking around anxiously. He wore a light blue oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up and dark jeans.

Aside from a few photos Arnold's mother had posted on his blog (after he got a new camera), Connor hadn't seen Kevin's face in almost a year. He looked the same, but different. He looked older, just a bit. His face was thinner, or maybe just more defined. He was tanner. His hair was longer, but still perfect, with that little lock that fell over his the middle of his forehead.

Then Kevin saw him. Their eyes met and Connor gasped. His breath caught in his throat. His heart stopped. He stood perfectly still in the middle of the sidewalk, unable to move, for several seconds, staring back at Kevin. He noticed his face twitch, as if his muscles couldn't decide on an emotion to express—shock, elation, apprehension, desire, relief.

He balled up his fists, steeling himself, and rushed into the café, but froze again just inside the door. His chest heaved with quick, shallow breaths, belying any pretense of calm, but a wide smile spread slowly across his face—so wide that his cheeks ached—as he stood a meter in front of Kevin who was smiling just the same.

"Hi," Connor said with a small wave.

Kevin chuckled. "Hi."

"Well…what do you say to someone after you haven't spoken in a year?"

"I have no idea."

Connor shook his head, laughing, "Me neither." He felt nervous and effervescent; it was hard to keep from gigging at the absurdity of the situation and the overwhelming joy that was bubbling up inside of him. "I…I missed you."

"I missed you, too." There was an uncomfortable pause as the two young men chuckled nervously, not sure what to say next. With uncharacteristic impulsiveness, Connor lunged at Kevin, taking his face in both hands and kissing him forcefully, teeth crashing against lips, tongues tangling, hands groping. They had only shared a few chaste, stolen moments together in Uganda. Never anything like this.

"Wow…" Kevin gasped with surprise. "That was…wow."

Connor smiled. "I figured that would be easiest. Just…get it out of the way, move things forward. Like ripping off a band-aid. Or…putting on a band-aid." He cracked a laugh and smiled wide, shaking his head, "I'm sorry, I'm not good with metaphors."

"Similes," Kevin corrected.

"Exactly." He laughed again. "I just…needed to make sure. That it was still there."

Kevin leaned in and kissed him again, long and soft and light, drawing fingertips slowly across the back of his neck, teasing in his hair in a way that made Connor shiver. "Well," Kevin said cheekily, pulling back. "Is it?"

Connor gulping hard and nodded. "Oh it most definitely is." He threw his arms around Kevin's broad chest, holding him tightly, nestling his face against his shoulder. "I…I love you. I know I've written it but I haven't had the chance to say it, and I wanted to say it back then but I didn't, and then you gave me that _stupid_ note and you didn't even give me a chance to say it back in person, so I'm saying it now, that I love you and I'm not going to stop and I'm just so glad you're here and I missed you so much and I needed you here with me and I know that's selfish and stupid but I did and now you're here and I can't believe it, that you're actually here and we can actually be together like real people."

Connor suddenly stepped back, looking flustered and embarrassed. "I'm sorry…wow. I'm sorry. That was way too much."

"No, it's—it's okay," Kevin said with a warm reassuring smile, pulling Connor back into his embrace. "I love you, too. So much. It just wasn't the same without you there." The stood, wrapped up together, rocking gently for several moments. Then Kevin tapped Connor lightly on the shoulder and whispered into his ear, "Con…people are…people are looking at us."

Connor lifted his head up and there were indeed a few patrons sneaking sly glances at them at the front of the coffee shop. He blushed and smiled bashfully, laughing, "Let them look. I don't even care." He took Kevin's hand in his and led him over to the couch by the window.

They sat down next to each other and Kevin rested his head on Connor's shoulder, tracing along their intertwined fingers with his free hand. He said again, dreamily, "I've missed you…so much. You have no idea."

"No, I think I have some idea," Connor said with a smirk.

"I have never been happier," Kevin effused, "It is not possible for me to be any happier than right now. There is absolutely nothing that could make me happier."

"I don't know," Connor joked, "They do have really good pizza next door."

Kevin waved a hand in the air dismissively. "_Please_. That was the first thing I ate when I got back home. I had my dad stop on the way back from the airport to pick one up. I ate the entire thing in the car before we even got home. It wasn't even that good, but it was streets ahead of anything Elder Church ever tried to make. Ugh, remember that one time?"

Connor shuddered. "I can never forget. It haunts me to this day." He laughed with a big smile and leaned over to kiss Kevin's forehead. He sighed happily, resting his head on Kevin's and giving his hand a squeeze. "I'm really glad that you're here. I'm glad we did this. Are you…are you sure this is what you want? I mean, you're the one that had to make so many changes."

"I'm sure. I'm definitely sure."

"That's good," Connor murmured into Kevin's hair.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Connor sat up straight, "Well…," he said, turning to Kevin, "Maybe we should get out of here. Do you want to grab a pizza and go back to my place?"

Kevin gave him a quizzical, sideways look.

"Oh…no-no," Connor sputtered, waving his hands, "I didn't…I didn't mean anything like _that_. I just mean that as nice as it is to be out with people, we could spend some time together, you know, not in public."

"Yeah, I—I know what you mean. Sorry."

"No, no, I'm sorry." Connor sighed and leaned back in the couch. "This is going to be kind of weird, isn't it?"

"Yeah…"

"But it's okay, right?" Connor asked.

"Yeah, of course."

"Okay."

* * *

><p>They bought a pizza next door and Connor left his bike and they walked back to the dorm hand in hand. Lolling languorously on the couch, they ate and reminisced and shared and swapped brief kisses and comforting touches. When it was getting late and Kevin couldn't suppress his yawning, Connor asked, "Do you…want to stay here tonight? I mean, I'd like you to, if you want to."<p>

"Yeah…yes."

They cleared away the pizza box and still-unpacked plastic tubs and Connor folded out the couch bed and set it with two pillows and a blanket. He flipped the light off, leaving the room illuminated by the dim desk lamp and the moonlight streaming in through the blinds.

Kevin stood by the door, looking apprehensive and unsure. Connor took his hand and very gently backed him against the side wall, kissing him tenderly, reassuringly. He slowly undid Kevin's shirt, punctuating each unlatched button with a kiss and a smile. Wordlessly, they undressed down to their undergarments and stood exposed in front of one another for the first time. Connor went over to the bed and climbed in under the blanket, motioning for Kevin to follow. They lay on their sides a foot apart, facing one another, studying each other's faces in the soft light.

Everything moved in slow motion. Connor reached out and laid a hand on Kevin's face, stroking his cheek with his thumb, lost in Kevin's eyes. He leaned forward and kissed him softly, barely grazing his lips. Then a second kiss, still soft, but longer, slower, savoring the wetness and warmth of their lips pressed together. Then a third, closed but insistent as Connor moved his hand to the back of Kevin's head. With a fourth, Connor parted Kevin's lips with his tongue, and Kevin ran a hand up Connor's arm, holding him tightly.

In the fifth, Connor pushed deeper and pulled himself flush against Kevin's body, gliding his hands up Kevin's back, feeling the heat of his bare skin. Kevin groped in Connor's hair, gasping for short breaths as their embrace grew more intense. Connor ran his fingertips under the waistband of Kevin's shorts, testing if he could go further, but Kevin recoiled sharply. Connor cradled Kevin's face in both hands and leaned back to look at him. He tilted his head a dipped in to kiss him lightly with a renewed tenderness. "I love you, Kevin," he whispered, sliding down to rest his head on Kevin's outstretched arm.

Kevin smiled and wrapped himself around Connor. "I love you, too." He kissed Connor's forehead. "Good night, Connor."

"Good night."


End file.
